


Bitter Brew

by pikachumaniac



Category: Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: 00Q Reverse Bang, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-19
Updated: 2014-12-19
Packaged: 2018-03-02 03:34:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2798033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pikachumaniac/pseuds/pikachumaniac
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first time James Bond makes Q tea, he botches it rather badly.</p>
<p>In which James makes tea and Q does not drink it, for various reasons.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bitter Brew

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the 00q Reverse Bang. Much thanks and fawning admiration to [adreaminglamb](http://adreaminglamb.tumblr.com/) for all of her [wonderful art](http://adreaminglamb.tumblr.com/post/105512646762/my-art-for-00qreversebang-title-a-cup-of-tea) that was the basis for this story! It was an absolute pleasure to write for, and I can only hope I did it justice.

The first time James Bond makes Q tea, he botches it rather badly. Half the tea leaves don’t make it into the tea bag, and he doesn’t allow the water to boil long enough before immediately letting the tea steep too long. By the time he’s done, he’s keenly aware that the “tea” he has prepared is either bitter or weak or both, and if he had any sense he would dump it down the drain where it belonged.

But then, if he had any sense he wouldn’t have been making tea in the first place. James isn’t the type to make excuses, but he thinks he can be forgiven for his pathetic attempts because having one arm in a cast and sling does nothing for his mobility and his sense of time is well and truly addled by the medication that the doctors foisted on him. It’s not a good combination at the best of times, and particularly problematic when trying to brew tea for someone as particular as Q.

Yet even knowing that his “creation” is likely to poison the quartermaster, he still finds himself carrying a mug of it to where he had left Q, sitting on a low windowsill nursing a mug of tea. He hadn’t expected to find Q there earlier, and might very well have walked right by him considering how quiet and still the younger man was. Not that Q was easy to miss; the opposite, really, considering not only his terrible dress sense but his impressive ability to command a room with a sharp word and level stare.

Since the “Skyfall” incident, James has had the pleasure of seeing Q doing just that. It’s not often that Q has to take the reins on a mission because every agent should be able to do their job without relying on the guidance of others. But neither Q nor Mallory – M, now, although there’s still that slight pang every time he has to call anyone but _her_ that – care much for the tender egos of the agents, and when necessary Q will and does step in. He’s not condescending about it, having been taught a hard lesson in humility by Silva, but he is firm. Some of the other agents hadn’t taken it well, James included, but eventually they had to concede that there wasn’t much point in fighting the inevitable. And after what happened to 002, one of the few times that a mission had gone critical and Q was not available to take over, there was even less cause for complaint.

None of those traits that made the younger man such an effective leader had been on display when James had stumbled across him. Instead, Q had simply sat there, cradling a mug of tea that had obviously long gone cold. James has no idea if the quartermaster had even noticed his presence before he slipped away to the communal kitchen. As he had rummaged through the cabinets, a part of him wondered what he was trying to do. He wasn’t particularly close to the new quartermaster, not like he had been with Boothroyd, yet suddenly he was trying to make the man tea just because he looked upset? Despite the questions, James didn’t even pause in his efforts (except once, to right himself when the medication made his head spin), and next thing he knew was right back at where he had left Q.

Q hasn’t moved from where he had been left, and he continues to do nothing when the fresh tea is placed right next to him. It’s not until James reaches over to gently pry the cold ceramic from Q’s unresisting fingers that the quartermaster starts. His genuine surprise at the gesture is amusing, but James doesn’t have time to appreciate it as he awkwardly sets the old mug aside before taking hold of the new one, pressing it back into Q’s hands.

“007,” Q says slowly, blinking at him even as his hands automatically curl around the warm cup. It’s admirable how quickly the dazed look in those bright green eyes is replaced by cool professionalism, and Q’s voice doesn’t even hitch as he asks, “May I ask what you think you are doing?”

In any other circumstance, James would reply with his usual charm. But then, in any other circumstance, James would not be trying to prepare tea with one good arm and a body pumped full of enough sedatives to drop a horse (yet is barely enough to dull all the other pains he has from his latest mission). Most importantly, in any other circumstance, Q would not be tucked away in this rarely used hallway because MI6 had finally found R, who was – literally – in pieces.

It hardly matters that Q had nothing to do with it, and could not have possibly done anything to prevent it from happening. As soon as James had heard the news, he knew that Q would be taking the death hard. Because if there’s one thing that James has learned about the quartermaster, it is that he does not tolerate failure. Every unsuccessful mission, every death, becomes a sort of obsession, as if he truly believes that if he had made one more modification to a piece of equipment, given one different direction to an agent, then he could have saved them all. Q should know by now that death is a constant companion when it came to MI6, yet he refuses to accept defeat by that grisly specter.

Sometimes James thinks that such conviction is admirable, but most of the time he thinks that it’s just going to get the quartermaster killed.

Now is not the time to voice that particular opinion. That’s for Psych to handle, although he doubts they’re equipped to do so, so he settles for gesturing vaguely at the mug of “tea” with his one working arm. “It looked like you needed it.”

Q stares at him, no doubt taking in the sling and the bandages and the way he has to lean against the wall to avoid falling to the floor, and opens his mouth to retort that James is in no position to judge a person’s ‘ _needs_.’ But then Q apparently thinks better of it, closing his mouth with an audible snap. He instead looks down at the mug, which is obviously not as hot as it needs to be. Considering how obsessed the younger man is with tea, he can probably tell without drinking that the stuff is disgusting, but chooses not to comment on that either.

“And here I thought I was supposed to be the one looking out for your well-being,” Q murmurs finally, and there is something almost like a smile on his face. It’s about as warm as the mug of tepid tea now held in his hands, but is a vast improvement compared to the blank despair that had lined his face earlier. “Thank you, Bond.”

James does a double-take, even though he is not entirely sure why he has to. He can see that Q’s smile has widened slightly, but it’s not insincere. He wouldn’t have blamed the quartermaster for mocking his disastrous attempts at making tea, but as always, Q sees beyond the end result and at the bigger picture. Some of the other agents scorned the quartermaster as only understanding machines, but clearly Q understands the motivations behind his actions even if James himself might not be entirely sure what he was hoping to accomplish.

So instead of replying with a rote ‘ _You’re welcome_ ,’ James nods slightly in acknowledgment and says, “Just make sure to take care of yourself, Q.”

“I will,” Q replies immediately, although the smile abruptly slides away. Before James can think to ask, Q’s original mug is being hastily pushed into his hand as the quartermaster adds, “Don’t think that this means I will go easy on you the next time you fail to bring back my equipment.”

“Of course not,” he says, tightening his grip on the mug before it can fall to the ground. He knows that through that gesture Q is pushing him away as well, but he lets it go because it is clear that Q still needs a moment to himself. As he starts to walk away, he turns back once to see that Q is looking distant again, the mug of tea he made firmly in the younger man’s lap, nowhere near his lips.

He can’t really blame the other man. James wouldn’t want to drink that swill he made either.

* * *

* * *

 The next time James makes Q tea, the quartermaster has been in the lab for three days straight, on the verge of some breakthrough that remains just out of reach. Of course, they all know that the young man is just compensating for R’s death by throwing himself into his work (again). When James hears that Tanner is looking for someone brave enough to endure Q’s wrath and pull him out of the lab, he quickly volunteers.

He is better prepared this time. He does some research, sends someone to make a purchase, and prepares the tea by dutifully following the printed instructions, although that doesn’t stop Q from shooting him a sharp look when he sets the mug down.

“Isn’t this a bit below your pay grade?” Q quips, gingerly pushing the ceramic away with a soldering iron. “Or does Tanner have some blackmail on you that I should know about?”

“He is starting to get a bit desperate,” James responds, avoiding admitting that the answer to both questions is a resounding _yes_. “Perhaps if you got some rest, you’ll figure out what the solution to your science experiment is.”

The glare he gets in return is the very definition of _withering_. “Thank you for not only relegating this potentially life-saving equipment to an ‘experiment,’ but for that excellent piece of advice. Public school certainly didn’t cover _that_.”

“Of course you went to public school,” he smirks, moving the tea right back towards the quartermaster. “Didn’t you also learn there that you need to get eight hours of sleep every night?”

“It varies depending on the person, actually,” is the quick retort, although it’s effectiveness is ruined by the large yawn that Q cannot hold back. Not that it stops him from being an utter brat. “Well, you’ve done your part. Tell Tanner that I’m almost finished, and I’ll be leaving as soon as I-”

James clears his throat, cutting the other man off. “Seeing how you’ve been telling him that for the last two days, he’s starting to view your promises as a little suspect.”

“He’s not my mother,” Q complains. “Neither are you.”

“I wouldn’t want to be.” Because last he checked, mothers don’t have increasingly filthy daydreams about a certain pale, green-eyed quartermaster with an acerbic tongue, and _fuck_ he doesn’t want to go into that right now. He doesn’t think Q would appreciate it either, seeing how he looks like he’s ready to fall over in exhaustion. “Look, if you just take a nap or something, I’m sure that will buy you another twenty-four hours of Tanner’s goodwill. So drink the tea. It’s supposed to help you sleep.”

For a moment, there is a careful blankness on Q’s face, one that is there so briefly that anyone else might have missed it. Seeing how James is not anyone else, he does not miss it, but is given no opportunity to comment before Q asks, “And how is it supposed to do that, exactly?”

Rather than try to explain, James just hands Q the box. The other man sighs, peeling off his goggles before gingerly taking the carton and reading far more slowly than his usual rapid-fire rate, “Celestial Seasonings Sleepytime Tea.” There is a long silence, before Q looks up at James with an arched eyebrow, “You do realize that you can’t believe everything on the label, Bond. Or the internet.”

Q’s exasperation is obvious, but it’s tempered by the slight quirk to his lips as he tries (and fails) to hide his bemusement. James can feel a smile tugging at his own lips as he points out, “Well, I couldn’t exactly ask you about your tea preferences when you’ve been holed up in this lab the entire time.”

“All I’m hearing now are excuses.”

Unfortunately for Q, the quartermaster isn’t the only one who believes in turnabout. “And what’s your excuse for not getting some rest? You did agree that you were going to take care of yourself.”

Q looks a little surprised at that, like he hadn’t expected James to remember their prior conversation. He might have a point. Even after the Skyfall incident, James’s attempt to poison the quartermaster with his subpar tea is the only time they’ve talked without being required to do so by work. But that doesn’t mean that he hasn’t been paying attention to the other man. Q had made quite an impression the first time they met, and James isn’t about to forget the risks he took when James had asked him for his help to lead Silva to his old home. He’s even less likely to forget the fact that Q had covered for him during the official inquiry into Mansfield’s death, an even greater risk because if there was anything worse than death, it was bureaucratic bullshit. Thanks to the new M, they had all made it out relatively unscathed, and in James’s case with a great deal more respect for the new quartermaster.

Respect, of course, was not all that he had for Q. There was something about the younger man that causes James to look out for him every time he went down to Q-branch. Even if there was no professional reason for them to interact, he is always instinctively aware of where and what the other man is up to. More than that, he _wants_ to know what Q is up to.

He’s less sure if he wants to know _why_ he’s so interested, however.

“Well,” Q says finally, saving him from his own thoughts. “It’s good to know that your memory is still intact despite your advanced age. Although I wish you could use those faculties to remember when I ask you to bring your equipment back in one piece.”

James is bothered by the comparison of Q’s health to a piece of equipment, as one clearly has more value than the other, but then Q sighs (actually just a cleverly hidden yawn) again. “Still, I suppose you have a point. At the very least, a nap will get Tanner off my back for another day.”

“Indeed,” he agrees as Q starts to clean up, putting each tool in its place. It doesn’t take him long to finish, and when he straightens he picks up the tea, surprisingly still hot despite the chill of the lab. Even from where he stands, the tea gives off a strong scent of herbs, which might explain Q’s slight grimace as he looks from it to James.

“I do appreciate the gesture, you know,” Q says, although he handles the mug with the care usually reserved for something explosive. “Even if you have no idea what you actually bought.”

Despite that jab, the words are as sincere as the last time, and it makes James feel light in a way that he should probably get treated. With alcohol, preferably. “I’m glad.”

* * *

Q might claim to appreciate the gesture, but that doesn’t stop him from pouring the lot of it down the drain. He’s kind enough to wait until James is out of sight, and might have got away with it if James hadn’t doubled back to make sure that Q hadn’t decided to sneak back into the lab.

The quartermaster doesn’t see him, luckily, and for his part he tries not to be offended. After all, Q is right – you can’t believe everything you find on the internet.

* * *

* * *

Following his latest failure, James falls to his old habits and simply stalks the quartermaster.

In his defense, stalking wasn’t actually his first course of action. He had tried, in a subtle way, to ask their colleagues about Q’s tea-drinking question, but he had known from the onset that it was a lost cause. MI6 is, after all, an intelligence agency, and the first thing any good spy wants to know is _why_ someone is asking a question about something they have no business asking after.

It doesn’t help that the people who know Q best (outside of Q-branch, but James knows better than to try to get anything out of _them_ about their esteemed leader without resorting to some unsanctioned torture) are also the ones most suspicious of his motivations. Tanner is already wary after he had had volunteered – and _succeeded_ – to pull Q out of the lab, so he is predictably cagy when James tries to get information from him. Eve, in contrast, can’t be bothered with subtlety.

(“ _It’s not like I’m going to poison him,” he snapped when Eve ignored his questions._

_Unperturbed, she continued typing up the latest mission brief. “You have to admit, you do have a reputation.”_

_“For poisoning people?”_

_“For doing stupid things.”_ )

Luckily, James is good at gathering information, although Q has enough sense to not be too predictable in his daily activities. The quartermaster takes different routes and different modes of transportation to and from work, is varied in his dining choices, and generally avoids going to the same shops so that the staff doesn’t start to recognize him. Still, Q is only human and certain patterns start to emerge, one of which is the types of teas that he drinks.

Q starts his day with English Breakfast, and ends it with lavender tea. James knows Q is starting to feel sick when he drinks rose tea, and anxious when he has lemon balm tea (too often for his liking). Q also seems to own every single specialty tea from Harrods, but James suspects that those are all gifts because the quartermaster rarely drinks any of them, instead offering it to M or any other visitors to his office. But the one tea that is a constant staple is the Earl Grey, and sometimes James thinks that Q drinks so much of it that it must run through his veins, which would explain the distinctive citrus scent that seems to follow the other man wherever he goes.

It’s not the only thing to follow Q now.

He shows off his newfound knowledge by showing up at Q’s office in order to set down a mug of perfectly brewed Earl Grey on the desk. He steps back, feeling rather like a loyal dog waiting for a pat on the head when Q finally deigns to look up at him.

There’s no other way of describing Q’s expression except as ‘ _cranky_ ,’ but James can’t blame him. The quartermaster has spent all day doing paperwork, yet there’s still a pile so high that it is starting to tilt quite precariously. But the tension on his face eases slightly when he sees the tea.

“Earl Grey,” James says unnecessarily as Q is already reaching for the mug. “You’re not in your pajamas, but I thought it would do.”

“It would indeed,” Q agrees, and there’s a certain thrill that rushes through him at the words. But it dissipates quickly as Q leans back in his chair, shoulders noticeably relaxing as he clutches the tea close to his chest but otherwise making absolutely no effort to drink it.

Perhaps that is his cue to leave, but he doesn’t. He pulls out the chair, only to find another stack of paperwork that he carefully puts on the ground. Q makes a soft sound of complaint, but otherwise doesn’t object as James sits down across from him and asks, “It’s alright, isn’t it?”

“Oh yes,” the quartermaster replies quickly. “It’s very good. The queen herself would be proud of your exceptional tea-making skills.”

He has no idea how Q knows that when he still hasn’t taken a sip, but chooses to comment wryly, “We all need something to do once we hit the mandatory retirement age.”

Q snorts delicately. “How very optimistic of you, Bond.”

“Is it?” he replies, a little surprised by the skepticism. Q isn’t exactly the humble kind, or the type to fish for compliments. “Since you became quartermaster, survival rates have increased quite dramatically. I wouldn’t be surprised if someone actually makes it to retirement, although that probably won’t be me. Psych keeps saying something about my having a death wish.”

Q is about as good as James at taking a compliment gracefully, judging from his dry response. “Don’t worry, I’ll make sure the lot of you all get killed off so that her majesty’s coffers aren’t emptied out due to having to pay your pensions.”

He laughs. He can’t help it, but it doesn’t stop him from noticing when Q’s surprise turns into genuine pleasure at his amusement. It’s one of the things he’s noticed about the quartermaster, the pride he takes at making other people’s lives just that much better. They might not always agree on what is ‘better,’ given Q’s initial open disgust for fieldwork, but he’s ultimately motivated by doing things efficiently, both from a financial and _human_ perspective. And he’s also willing to admit his mistakes, having later apologized to James about that disgust. It’s not easy to accept one’s faults, but Q does it every time, and it’s just one more thing that James has found so interesting about him.

“I’m glad I can amuse you so,” Q says once he has finished laughing. But that small smile is still on his face, tempering any acidity that the words might otherwise have had. “Still, I would like to get this work done before the end of the century, since the last thing I want is for Tanner to catch me at the office with even more paperwork to fill out. For someone who keeps insisting that I work less, he certainly doesn’t seem to have any problems adding to my workload.”

Even as he dismisses James, he is already using his free hand to pull papers out of the towering stack. As one of her majesty’s best spies, James is skilled at reading papers that are upside down, but he can’t discern any understandable logic to the way Q organizes them. It’s possible that the quartermaster just has an odd system that is not comprehendible to mere mortals, or the other man is just trying to appear busy. Whichever it was, it is clear that he wants to be left alone to finish his work, and like Tanner, James is an advocate of that if it is what it takes to get the quartermaster home.

So he quietly excuses himself and takes his leave. Q barely looks up as he does so, still busy with the papers even as he clutches the steaming mug of tea to his chest. It’s not until James closes the door that he realizes that the other man still had not taken a single sip.

* * *

* * *

Q is in his pajamas when James presents him with his next offering, on account of having the flu. James had stopped by Q-branch unannounced, unsure of what he wanted to do but determined nevertheless, only to be informed that Q had actually taken the day off.

That had surprised him. Considering Q’s work habits, he would have expected the quartermaster to insist on dragging himself in and hooking himself up to an IV drip. Maybe that was a sign of how sick Q was, but that didn’t stop James from breaking into the other man’s flat.

He did at least wait until a decent hour to do so.

Q’s security setup is impressive and he nearly trips it four times, despite being as careful as possible. But eventually he makes it to the kitchen, where he finds a dizzying array of tea and absolutely no substantive food. Luckily, he was prepared for this possibility, which is why he had done some shopping before (even if the Waitrose shopping bag had complicated his efforts to infiltrate Q’s flat).

It doesn’t take long before he’s prepared the tea and wandered into Q’s bedroom. The windows have been thrown open, which helps with the air flow but creates a distinct chill in the room even if it is an unusually warm autumn day. In the middle of it is Q, wrapped in enough blankets to make him resemble a colorful Eskimo and not at all surprised to see him. The most likely explanation is that there are hidden security cameras around the flat which allow the quartermaster to watch his every move, as Q looks expectant even as he says pointedly, “There are rules about this, you know.”

“Are you going to complain to M?” James sits down at the edge of the bed, but scoots closer when Q unconsciously leans a little closer. He had been trying to maintain a respectful distance between them – possibly a pointless gesture considering how he is here uninvited – but apparently distance is not what Q is looking for. It’s something he’s noticed, although it surprised him when he did; he had always thought that Q would be more reserved, avoiding contact as best he could, but really it is the opposite. It isn’t obvious, especially in a professional setting, but it had quickly stood out to him given his original assumptions about the man. Q appreciated contact, taking a comfort from it, and given how sick the young man looks, James is willing to brave the possibility of his own disease to give him that.

Q makes a sound that is a cross between appreciative and thoughtful. “He’ll just be jealous, as I hear you make a point of breaking into his place every two to three weeks since he got the position.”

“I do like to keep my superiors humble.”

“Then I’m insulted that you didn’t come here sooner,” Q replies, and while his tone is teasing, he does sound rather put upon by that.

James shrugs, “I never broke into Boothroyd’s home either.”

Q is not appeased. “You did it every day. The man practically lived at headquarters.”

“You’re like him in that respect,” he points out, and Q is honest enough not to deny it.

Of course, that might be due more to the flu than actual agreement though, as he’s too busy sneezing loudly and repeatedly to respond properly. When he finally stops, Q stares at James through slightly teary eyes and asks in a voice that is as stuffy as his nose, “Do you really think so?”

He doesn’t even hesitate (except to push Q’s hair away from his eyes, a desire he successfully – if reluctantly - resists). He doesn’t have to. “Yes, I do.” Because for all the differences between Boothroyd and the sniffling mess next to him, they are the same in so many ways, first and foremost being their inability to put their work down. Q might have failed to show up at work, but that doesn’t mean he’s not still _working_ , if the laptop and scattered blueprints are anything to judge by. Rather than try to do something stupid like pull the computer out of the quartermaster’s hands, he settles for offering the mug and explaining before he can be asked, “Here. Honey lemon tea.”

“Bit of a misnomer seeing how there’s no actual tea in it,” Q replies, somehow managing to make the words sound fond.

Sometimes James thinks that Q is in the wrong position, as the other man has the uncanny ability to make even James want to open up more than he probably should. Even recognizing that, James finds himself saying, “My mother used to make it for me when I was sick.”

It’s one of the few things that he remembers about her. It’s one of the last things he thought he would ever share with someone. And Q must know it because there’s a sadness in his eyes even though the death was years ago and Q never even knew her. But he knows James, and the sympathy is oddly comforting. Still, it’s not James’s old wounds that need to be worried about but Q himself, so he tries to return to the matter at hand by continuing, “Well, at least it can’t make things any worse, right?”

“No, of course not,” Q agrees, his hands leaving the keyboard to take a hold of his laptop. Except rather than move the computer away from his lap, the thin fingers grasp it tightly, like he is afraid to let go.

There is a lot about James’s life that is about timing. When to slip through an open door or wait for the meeting to finish, when to strike or take a blow, when to kill or let the rat slip away so they could catch an even bigger one. That’s why he also knows when it is time to accept the inevitable and retreat. It’s not like he hasn’t noticed Q’s obvious reluctance to drink any of the teas he’s prepared, but he has run out of excuses for why that might be. Poorly made, poorly chosen, poorly timed – they were never reasons, but simply excuses for the fact that Q simply had no interest, but was too polite to say anything.

Except it wasn’t actually clear that Q had no interest. Maybe he was just flattering himself, but Q had always seemed pleased with his attempts, even if they were just attempts. Whether it’s the way those elegant fingers wrapped around a mug almost reverently when it was handed to him, or the way those eyes lit up and dark red lips curled up in pleasure, Q did seem to sincerely appreciate the attention. Moreover, the quartermaster had never been the type to keep silent about his _dis_ pleasures. He’d seen Q shut down unwanted advances with brutal efficiency, including warding off the pleas of an overly persistent ex-boyfriend who eventually had to be transferred to another field office. But here, there is absolutely no evidence that Q wanted him to stop.

Well, no evidence except for the rejection of all his offerings.

James is not going to put Q in the position of being forced to admit his disinterest, since that is the last thing the quartermaster should have to do. It’s a bit of a blow to the ego because James hasn’t really been rejected before, seeing how very good he is at getting what he wants. He’s not sure when Q was something that he wanted as well, especially since that description seems wholly inadequate to describe how he feels towards the man. But then, no words seem adequate at the moment.

That is looking to be something that he no longer has to worry about. Q looks startled when he stands, so he apologizes, murmuring, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have overstepped, and-”

“It’s not you,” Q interrupts quickly, before sneezing again. Rather than use that opportunity to slip away before things can get even more awkward (he is told that the ‘it’s me, not you’ conversations can be quite uncomfortable, and it’s not hard to see why), James hangs back although he doesn’t sit down again. Instead, he’s stuck in a half-crouch, something Q seems to recognize as he reiterates despite not having fully recovered, “It’s not you.”

With one hand Q closes the laptop and puts it to the side, even while using the other hand to gently tug James back down. Once he is seated, Q looks a little bit lost, like he hasn’t planned anything beyond this step. Or he is just reluctant to take it. But proving once again that he is never to be underestimated, he straightens and looks James in the eyes. “Do you remember the incident with 002 last year?”

“Yes,” he replies. Nobody was about to forget that “incident” any time soon. 002’s grisly demise made R’s death look tame by comparison; at least the autopsy afterwards had confirmed that R had already been dead when the dismembering took place. 002 had not been afforded such luxuries. What made an already ugly situation worse was that the death likely could have been avoided with a proper handler. But Q hadn’t been around that day, and by the time he had been located it had already been too late. He’d always wondered if the quartermaster blamed himself for what happened, and it seems like he is getting the answer to that question now although he has no idea what that has to do with Q’s apparent disinterest. “But that wasn’t your fault.”

“Of course it wasn’t,” Q replies, except the harshness of the words makes James suspect that Q isn’t quite as certain as he wants to be. “He fucking _drugged_ me.”

James jerks back ever so slightly, but luckily Q is so lost in his thoughts that he doesn’t notice. As for James, he isn’t sure what he was expecting, but it certainly wasn’t that. “What?”

“Mark. My ex. He drugged me,” Q repeats, his hands twisting in the comforter. Before James can even start to process this information, Q is barreling ahead, unable to stop now that he has started to explain. “He… I don’t know, I guess I understand it. Hard to believe, I’m sure, but I was much worse before this. Before, something like this-” he indicates himself, the mess of tissues on the bed and spilling over the trash bin, “-I would still be at work, not able to rest. And he was worried because I hadn’t slept in so long, so he drugged my tea. And maybe he would have got away with it, maybe he’d even done it _before_ because he wouldn’t give me a straight answer on that, but the next thing I knew I was waking up in the hospital to seventeen different alerts and 002 was….”

Q’s voice trails off, lost in the memory. James stays quiet, more from the lack of anything to say. His mind quickly latches onto the whispers around the office, questioning why Q had not been there for that mission. Since there had never been any discipline, official or otherwise, it was generally assumed that it was something that could not be helped. But he had never imagined it could be something like _this_ , that someone would-

Well. At the very least, it explained the other man’s refusal to accept the tea James had offered.

“I think it’s worse sometimes,” Q says a bit absent-mindedly, more to himself than to his audience. “That he did it because he meant well. That he was so desperate to do something like that because I wasn’t taking care of myself. It wasn’t just him – Eve used to threaten to send both Psych and Medical after me if I didn’t go back home – but I didn’t think anyone would ever just _do_ that. And if it hadn’t been for what happened with 002, would I have been in any position to be upset? Maybe I would have just had a good night’s sleep and we would have had a laugh, and then I wouldn’t spend these past few months not being able to trust anyone who hands me a drink without wondering what _they_ put in it too. I swear, sometimes it’s as if the more well-intentioned they seem, the less likely I’m able to trust it because he meant well too. And so do you. Which I guess means it is you, somewhat, just not in the way that you think.”

Q goes silent after that, his cheeks slightly flushed. It might be a symptom of the cold, but James thinks it’s more likely because he has said more than he had planned to. Admitting what had happened all those months ago is already hard enough, but explaining the effects it still had is another thing entirely. But something about those words hits him hard, which is strange because this is supposed to be about Q, not him. Maybe that’s why the only thing he can come up with is an awkward, “I see. Thank you for explaining.”

He is not the only one who immediately knows how inadequate the words are; Q almost seems to deflate at that, although he valiantly tries to cover for it by shrugging, like what he just said doesn’t matter nearly as much as it actually does. “I just didn’t want you to get the wrong impression. Because I meant it, what I said all those other times. I did… _do_ appreciate what you’re doing, but it’s hard. It’s even harder with you, I think, because… well, you know why. I know it’s ridiculous, truly I do, and-”

“It’s not,” he cuts off. Maybe he’s not sure what to say, and a part of him regrets the interruption when Q is trying to open up, but he can’t help himself because he disagrees so violently with what the quartermaster is saying. The last thing Q should be thinking is that he is at fault for feeling this way, that he somehow _deserved_ what happened when it is the actions of another that caused this harm. “It’s about trust. I can understand that.”

Or rather, it’s about the _betrayal_ of that trust. If there’s anything he understands, it is betrayal but with the best of intentions. He betrays people all the time, drawing them in and making them feel wanted just so that he can use them for the good of Queen and country. And he has suffered betrayals as well, time and time again, although one of those times matters more than all the other times combined.

_Vesper_.

He doesn’t say the name out loud, but he doesn’t need to. Q is intelligent and more importantly, Q has read his file. Whether it is because Q knows exactly what is going through his mind or because suddenly all he sees is _her_ in the other man, it doesn’t matter as he quickly stands, confident that Q will not stop him. “I have to go.”

Now it’s Q’s turn to smile sadly and say, “I understand.” As if to help James on his way, he removes his glasses and settles back under the covers, not even bothering to move the scattered papers away. For an instant, James wonders if this is commonplace for Q, falling asleep surrounded by his work. He suspects that it probably is.

If not for their current circumstance, James might be jealous of how easily Q’s eyes flutter shut, as if to brush aside the fact that he has been acting like a complete and utter arse in response to one of those moments of honesty that are so rare in their line of work. Perhaps he should be grateful that the quartermaster is willing to let it go so easily, but he can’t. He is the one who opened himself up to such honesty by bringing Q tea and trying to get close, only to pull back once he realized what exactly he was opening himself up to. By all rights, Q should be throwing him out, not acting as if nothing is wrong with the way he reacted.

Q doesn’t. Because even now, Q will put the interests of his agents before his own feelings.

Or not entirely. It’s probably a combination of the disease and exhaustion, but before James can slip away, Q whispers, “I wish you wouldn’t stop.”

He freezes, practically stumbling mid-step in order to do so. Q doesn’t notice his uncharacteristic clumsiness on account of his eyes being closed, and just as James is starting to wonder if the quartermaster has fallen asleep without being able to complete his thought, he continues softly, “I like that you try. With the tea, I mean. I don’t want you to stop trying.”

“I won’t,” he promises before he can stop himself. He has no idea whether or not his answer is a lie, and judging by Q’s soft sigh, he is not the only one. They both know how easily he makes promises that he does not intend to keep, not to mention promises that he simply might not be _able_ to keep. It’s an asset in their trade, being able to get people to trust you without having to reciprocate, but less so when it comes to his personal life.

Which is perhaps why he avoids having a personal life to begin with.

He turns to go, but is interrupted again when Q murmurs, “Ginger tea. Calms the stomach.” Without another word of explanation, Q turns over to his other side so that they no longer have to face each other and immediately falls asleep.

* * *

James has absolutely no idea if Q was actually asking anything of him. It doesn’t stop him from returning to the flat less than an hour later with more ginger tea than Q will probably need in a lifetime, which he leaves on the kitchen table. If it’s the last thing he leaves for the quartermaster, at least it will be something useful.

* * *

* * *

Two weeks later, James finds himself in Hong Kong.

The distance is not his doing, although he certainly did not object to it. The day after his unofficial visit to Q, he was required to make an official visit to M. By the time Q was back in the office, James was already halfway around the world, tracking down a terrorist organization who is threatening to become more than a thorn in England’s side.

The mission is relatively simple, as M is still taking into account the arm injury he suffered, but it takes some time. At first, James does not mind, quickly setting set aside his concerns about Q in order to concentrate on completing his objective. There was a lot of information to get through, informants to visit and backs (and the occasional neck) to break. But the core group is proving elusive, and as the intelligence dried up, James has only on his own work to rely on. That is fine by him, since he doesn’t want to become dependent on others for information, but it also requires a lot of surveillance. And surveillance means a lot of sitting around with nothing to distract him.

Most of his mission is spent off-line, which is his usual preference because the last thing he needs is a constant voice squawking in his ear. Q never squawks (although he certainly complains a lot, particularly about James’s destructive tendencies), but James isn’t sure if he wants to listen to that smooth tone either. He doesn’t know what he is going to say to Q because he doesn’t know what he _wants_ , so the distance is useful. Besides, Q is just like him when it comes to putting Queen and country above all else, and he is sure that the quartermaster has a great deal to catch up on after his sick leave. Despite that, it still bothers him when Q makes no effort to contact him.

It’s completely irrational, of course, considering where he had left things off. Relationships usually are. Prior to his untimely demise, 002 used to joke that MI6 had a vested interest in deterring staff from forming attachments to other people. It wasn’t a particularly funny joke because there was a more than a grain of truth in it, whether through Mansfield’s oft-repeated mantra that ‘ _orphans make the best recruits_ ’ or MI6’s strict but completely unenforceable policy against workplace relationships. They all understand that relationships are dangerous, creating loyalties to a real person rather than a nebulous concept like the good of the free world. After all, even the most cynical and hardened of MI6 agents would hesitate to do what was best for Queen and country when their loved ones are at risk, and hesitation can be the deciding factor between life and hundreds of ugly deaths.

Nobody ever really talks about the converse of the situation though, when it is MI6’s own people being used against others. It’s not a particularly common situation, but as James learned first-hand, it can be equally deadly. Even after so many years, he can never fully forget that the only reason why he is breathing now is because Vesper chose to betray their country in order to save his life. Vesper chose to die so that he could live. And as he had left Venice behind, he had sworn to himself that he would never put himself (or anyone else) in the position to go through that again.

Promises can be forgotten though, and he had nearly forgotten his as he allowed himself to get closer to Q. It hadn’t been on purpose, even though from the moment they had met, he had felt a wholly inappropriate attraction towards the other man. But James was used to physical attraction, and he must have implicitly sensed that this was nothing so shallow. He should have immediately backed off then, avoiding Q except when necessary for work, yet instead he had found himself drawing even closer. That was a clear mistake, seeing how the last time he was so fascinated by a person was Vesper.

That had obviously not gone well.

In so many ways, Q reminds him of her. It’s not just that he is intelligent and rather beautiful and independent, but that he sees _through_ James. He isn’t intimidated by the death that follows after someone of James’s position, instead helping him as needed. And he is loyal, although hopefully not in the way _she_ was, because like it or not her unchecked loyalty to the people in her life had left its mark on James in more ways than one. He is still not sure which he is unable to forgive, the fact that she had loved someone enough to betray her own country, or the fact that she had loved _him_ enough to die right in front of his eyes. Both were done with the best of intentions, to protect the people she cared for, and both are equally scarring. Knowing that her intentions were good is as bitter as the horrible tea he had made for Q the first time he tried, but it can’t erase the fact that he did try. That somehow, the traumas start to fade into the background when Q is involved.

Q doesn’t make him forget her (nobody can), as what happened to the quartermaster is a harsh reminder of the cruel effects of good intentions. But he does make James think that he could start to move on. Or maybe it’s more that he makes James _want_ to move on, to appreciate the life that Vesper had given to him rather than resenting her for sacrificing herself.

That is why instead of wanting to allow their current physical distance to become an emotional one, James unconsciously (and then quite consciously) distracts himself from the tedium of surveillance by imagining what could have happened if not for their pasts. How at the end of a long day, James would go to Q’s office with a mug of tea. Sometimes they will talk, but sometimes he will just watch as Q works, admiring how those long fingers type rapidly over the keyboard and that brilliant mind processes information so quickly. Q will bask in his appreciation, flashing James a small, triumphant smile whenever he completes something difficult, before leaning back in his chair as his hands grip the handle of whatever mug James had chosen this time around.

But even in his daydreams, Q never takes a sip. It is only then that James realizes how much it bothers him that Q never drinks. It bothers him that someone could have had the same effect on Q that Vesper did on him because nobody should have to go through that. Sometimes he entertains the idea of going after Q’s ex, to teach him a lesson about betraying hard-won trust like that, but the possibility is always quickly discarded. For starters, if Q had wanted the man destroyed, he doesn’t need James to do that; he’s more than capable of doing that on his own.

The other, far more significant reason is that at times, he can almost understand what would have driven Q’s ex to do such a thing. It’s not that Q needs to be taken care of, but that he is so determined to look out for the welfare of others that he neglects himself, pushing his entire being to the breaking point without ever realizing when he’s gone far past. James knows what that’s like because it is what is expected of every agent with a job to do, but that’s exactly why agents get time off between missions, to recover from what they’ve done. In contrast, Q seems incapable of stopping, and it’s no wonder that in desperation, someone would eventually try to make him rest through sheer force.

But that doesn’t mean it is _right_. Q is not a child or incapable of thinking for himself. Maybe it was done with the best of intentions, but that duplicity was at best patronizing and at worst, scarring. It had taken away Q’s right to decide under the guise of being for his own good, and it is no wonder that the quartermaster would be so reluctant to trust anyone who makes the mistake of showing him kindness. Kindness, after all, can be the most effective killer of all.

Except despite that, Q will try. _Is_ trying, if their late night conversation at Q’s flat is anything to judge by. And James will try as well, swallowing his anger at Q’s ex in order to spoil the quartermaster in other ways. He might try to buy Q teas when he goes on missions, but it won’t be the same. Handing Q a packet of tea, no matter how rare or expensive or futile his attempts to wipe the blood off are ( _“Please tell me this is not yours, Bond. Or better yet, just don’t say anything.”_ ), lacks the same intimacy of actually preparing it. It’s a matter of effort, no matter how small, of taking the time to make a perfectly brewed tea. Because if there’s anything that the quartermaster deserves, it is at least that.

That is why one day, James will ask the question that he has not asked without an ulterior motive in years, whether that was to get information or to get close to a target. Because Q is not a target and James only wants to know what the quartermaster is willing to freely share, so when he asks, he will be asking in acknowledgment of a life outside of the work, a life that he hopes Q would be a part of. “ _Dinner?_ ”

Before he can decide how Q will respond, his targets come into view. Instantly, any thoughts of Q are replaced by the animal instinct, a hunter now watching its prey. His last thought before shutting out anything and everything extraneous to the mission is that as soon as he is done here, he will find Q and ask him that question. Because it is time for the both of them to move on, to no longer allow the good intentions of others prevent them from having something of their own again.

* * *

* * *

Of course, things can never be so simple. If they were, both he and Q would be out of a job, although given the stabbing pain in his back, maybe that wouldn’t be such a bad thing.

“If there’s a stabbing pain, it’s because someone knifed you,” a voice informs him dryly. “Fascinating concept, I realize, but that’s generally how it works.”

No need to ask who _that_ is. Regardless, he forces himself to open his eyes, nearly regretting that decision when he is met by a bright light that makes him wince. Everything is blurry but it’s still easy to tell that it’s Q who is sitting next to him, arms crossed in irritation but unable to completely hide the desperate relief that he is waking up at all. Not that Q doesn’t try to cover for it, musing out loud, “It’s not often that I’m the one doing the caretaking. It’s quite refreshing.”

It strikes him as an odd thing to say considering that Q is constantly taking care of all of them. Likely the other man is referring to their specific situation of someone being in a hospital bed, but it still seems to belittle Q’s very real contribution to keeping them all alive. Combined with Q’s prior reluctance to take any credit for improving agent survival rates, James has to wonder if his quartermaster is simply unable to look past the failures to enjoy the successes.

Now is not the time to ask though. He swallows, but his voice is still hoarse as he suggests, “A nurse’s outfit might be an improvement.”

“Only if you’re very good,” Q deadpans immediately. James’s vivid imagination immediately springs to life, but doesn’t get very far. “And seeing how you’re in a hospital bed on account of being stabbed, I don’t think you deserve that kind of treatment just yet.”

“But that’s not a no,” he points out, earning an exasperated sigh. “Besides, it wasn’t my fault I got stabbed.” And for once, it wasn’t. Nobody could have predicted that the damn terrorist organization he’d been following had _friends_ , and well-armed ones at that. Not that a knife was the epitome of technological weaponry, but he had just blown up their warehouse full of hazardous equipment, so they’d had to learn to make do. Luckily for him, they hadn’t learned that _well_ , or he might not have made it back at all.

“Bully for you,” Q replies, turning his back on him. There’s a tension in his spine that cannot simply be attributed to sitting on an uncomfortable hospital chair for too long, and it’s clear that as easy as it is for them to fall into banter, it’s only because they’re avoiding the discussion that hangs between them. But one would never have been able to tell by how placid Q looks when he turns back towards James, holding something. “Now drink your tea.”

The mug is hastily pushed into his hands, which are still so weak that he nearly drops it. If not for Q’s hands immediately wrapping around his, the hot liquid would have spilled all over him. Q looks a little embarrassed at his rush, and tries to cover for it by clearing his throat and explaining, “Green tea. _Camellia sienensis_.” The words roll so smoothly off Q’s tongue that James nearly misses what comes next. “It is supposed to have anti-oxidant and anti-inflammatory properties that should enhance the surgical healing process. If it works, maybe I should make it part of the standard kit for the more masochistic of you lot.”

“If it works?” he repeats. “Is this something you found on the Internet? I do seem to remember someone lecturing me about that.”

Q doesn’t even blink. “Unlike _some_ people, I actually look for scientific papers, not just blog recommendations on preferred sleep aids.”

“You wound me,” he says with a half-grin, but obediently taking a sip of the tea. As expected, it is expertly brewed, the lightness paradoxically strong and unmarred by any additional milk or sugar.

That is the point where Q could have pointed out that it was the least he deserves, considering how they had parted ways last, but the other man is merciful enough to settle for saying, “No, I believe someone else took care of that already.”

He spits out the tea, just missing Q while earning him a cry of disgust from the medical staff, before he finds himself doubled over in laughter. It’s not even that funny, and he’s not sure it’s worth the sharp pain through his back until he looks up to see the surprised but generally pleased look on Q’s face.

The look fades quickly though, as they’re finally forced to give into the reality of their current state of affairs. That doesn’t mean it is easy for the quartermaster to walk away.

“I’m glad you made it,” Q says, the words quiet but painfully genuine. For a moment, it looks like he wants to add a gentle joke about not wanting to train another agent on the importance of bringing back equipment (not that James can claim to be good at following that particular instruction), but obviously thinks better of it as he instead gets up. “I should get back to work. I’ll be sure to inform M that your ‘grievous’ injuries – which as always, would have been the death of anyone else – should only prevent you from doing fieldwork for the next-”

“Wait.” Despite said grievous injuries, James reaches out to take Q by the wrist. The other man immediately stops, looking at him with an expression that is impossible to read even for an international spy, but it doesn’t stop him from saying, “Let me take you out to dinner.”

“No,” is Q’s automatic response, and it is only then that James realizes how much he wanted the other man to say _yes_. He immediately lets go of the thin wrist. It doesn’t draw away, instead lingering just within reach as Q continues, “No, I… no, I didn’t mean it like that.”

“I’m not sure how else I’m supposed to take it,” he replies, not entirely honest.

This earns him the _‘Do I really have to say it?’_ look, and his silence makes the answer clear enough. He wonders if he is being unnecessarily cruel, but at the same time he knows it is essential for them both. Q could still walk away, but despite his frustrated sigh, it is clear that he never seriously considers it, instead saying, “I don’t need your pity, 007. I thank you for what I assume is your misguided attempt to apologize for what happened, but you really don’t have to go so far as to ask me out to dinner just because you feel sorry for me.”

“I don’t feel sorry for you,” he replies vehemently. The last thing Q has ever needed is pity. “What was done to you is wrong, not a reason to pity you. And if you want to say no because of what I did or because you’re not interested, that’s fine. But don’t say no because you think I’m asking just to be kind because I’m not. I’m asking you because I want to. I’m not asking you on a whim, or as a one-night stand, or as something that is temporary. I’m asking because I think we can have something together, whether that’s a life, a meal, or a cup of tea.”

Q lets out a soft, shaky laugh. “You know, most people would start the other way around.”

“We’re not most people.” That is certainly true enough. Most people would not understand why this is such a significant step because most people would not have so many reasons to hesitate letting someone else into their lives. “Besides, we both know that the last one is about trust.”

“Are you saying I can trust you?”

“I’m saying that I would like to give you a reason to,” he answers, knowing that is the best that he can hope for. “I know it will take time, but I want to try if you’re willing. Only if you’re willing.”

James can’t blame Q for hesitating, since even if there is a mutual attraction between them, that is not enough to justify what he is proposing. No doubt Q is remembering the way he had reacted to the truth of what happened with 002, not to mention what happened the last time he had trusted someone in the way he is now being asked to do again. But Q is not the kind to fall victim to past regrets. It is never easy, yet if there is anyone who has the strength to move beyond what was done to him, it is his quartermaster.

He knows what the answer will be when Q reaches down to gently clean the spilled tea off of him. Q won’t meet his eyes, but the intent is more than clear. “Alright then.”

As soon as he hears the soft acquiescence, he doesn’t hesitate. James gently pulls Q closer, and his quartermaster goes willingly. Maybe it is too fast but at the same time it is _not nearly enough_ , his heart racing as Q arches into the hand that is placed on the back of that long, pale neck, easily exposing his throat so that it can be peppered with small kisses. It’s painfully slow going as he makes his way up Q’s jawline, lingering on the dark mole just to the side of those lips. They’re not left alone for long as James finally kisses that dark red smile, earning a soft sigh as he tastes the Earl Grey that lingers there even now.

He wonders if Q can taste the tea on his lips as well, and thinks that if this is one way of getting Q to drink the tea he makes, he can live with that.


End file.
